


Something You Do

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Human, Florist Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Steter Week 2018, Tattoo Artist Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 16:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Peter expresses his love through his art. Stiles is never going to get a tattoo so Peter will have to be a little bit creative.-For Day 5 of Steter Week - promptFlorist/Tattoo Shop AU





	Something You Do

Stiles will never get a tattoo. He’s made that very clear. He can’t even be in the shop if the tattoo gun is running. Peter has seen that sickly look on his face too many times before he bolted back to the safety of his flowers next door. A tattoo is off the table. Peter has come to terms with the fact that he’ll have to find another way to express his love.

To Derek he gave the triskele between his shoulder blades, a symbol of the family that he fell back on so firmly after Kate Argent tried to rip him from them for her own gains. He was only 16 at the time and Talia nearly killed Peter for his efforts, but she could appreciate the sentiment. Eventually.

To Laura he gave the phases of the moon down her spine. She’d always been drawn to nature, the natural processes that have been going on since long before humans were here and will continue long after. She was logical and sensible but she always swore she could feel it’s pull. Peter called her his little moon child and she always looked a little bit touched, like he was the only one who understood her true nature.

To Cora he gave a phoenix, vivid colours splashed over her back, a metaphor for how he saw her. She had a troubled adolescence, getting in with the wrong crowd and running away more than once. She didn’t graduate high school, going down to South America instead. She was 18, legally they couldn’t stop her. When she came home, Peter knew there were stories she’d never tell any of them, he could see them in her eyes. She went to night school and got her GED before going to college to study business. She kept her head down, worked hard, and then she opened up her own little coffee shop on the edge of town. She put sharpies in the bathrooms and invited people to write their secrets over the white walls. They were covered in such beauty and sadness in every colour of the rainbow. Peter often wondered if Cora’s secrets were up there somewhere. He wouldn’t disrespect her enough to try and find them.

To Talia he gave a single world – Tata. It was small, discreet, nestled on her hip beneath her clothes, just between the two of them. It was what he used to call her when he was learning to talk, what he still calls her in the moments when he feels small and vulnerable and needs her to guide him like she held his hand to teach him to walk.

Peter always knew what he’d give Stiles from the first time he met him at Cora’s coffeeshop. They’d shared a table because it was busy and ended up chatting for nearly an hour, Stiles reluctantly leaving to work on an arrangement for a wedding anniversary. After he left, Peter went into the bathroom and wrote on the wall in red pen _His eyes are almost as beautiful as his brain. I want to put myself under his skin._

He gave up on that dream a long time ago, but he still wants to give this to Stiles. Pictures have always been easier than words. He lies beside him in bed, watching him sleep, exhausted from doing the flowers for a wedding the day before. Weddings mean getting up super early to dress the church, making last minute adjustments to bouquets and showing brides and bridesmaids how to hold them, making sure all the centre pieces are perfect at the reception before the ceremony is over. Stiles has staff that help him at the shop but he always runs events by himself. He’s a perfectionist and he wants to personally make sure that every little flower is placed exactly right. He won’t accept anything less. It’s his reputation on the line.

So now he’s all tuckered out, mouth hanging open, arm resting in the space between them. Peter stares at it. This started with sharpies. This time he wants to be a little more direct with his message though.

He climbs from the bed, grabbing his pens from his bag and sitting back down on the bed with his phone. He googles flower meanings, finding himself a website with all the definitions. He starts scanning through, looking for the words that describe Stiles, describe how Peter feels about him, describe what they have.

He starts out with a red tulip on his wrist. Stiles stirs, making a noise as he tries to pull his hand away.

“Don’t move,” Peter tells him, gripping his arm to keep him in place, concentrating on outlining the design.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, eyes screwing shut more tightly.

“Go back to sleep,” Peter says.

“It tickles,” Stiles complains.

“Shhh,” Peter says.

Stiles stills, his body melting back into the bed, but Peter can tell he doesn’t really fall back asleep. He doesn’t disturb Peter though, accepts what he’s doing, and he doesn’t peek. Peter adds a little fan of roses behind the tulip, thinking of how Stiles would make the arrangement look. They both have a creative eye, even if they use it in different ways. He colours them red, yellow and orange respectively for the different ways in which he loves him. He adds an iris above beside Queen Anne’s lace, settling with an amaryllis at the top.

He has multiple tabs open on his phone with as many reference pictures as he can find, wanting them to look perfect, wanting Stiles to recognise them instantly for what they are. Once he has the design in place he starts working on the depth with shade and shadow, making them come to life. He’s striving for perfection, just like Stiles always does with his own arrangements.

He finally puts the cap on his pen, leaning back to appraise his work. He turns Stiles’ arm slightly one way then the other before allowing himself a satisfied smile. It’s exactly what Stiles has always deserved. He places Stiles’ arm carefully back on the bed.

“Can I look now?” Stiles asks, voice still rough with sleep.

“Go ahead,” Peter tells him.

Stiles opens his eyes with a little note of protest at the light coming through the window, lifting his arm to take a look. His eyes instantly go wide as he sits up, looking at it properly. Peter can see him taking in the design, working it all out in his head, and he finds his own heart beating faster in his chest. It’s in code but it’s a code that Stiles can read. He might as well have written the words across his skin. But that’s the point, he reminds himself. You’re supposed to say _I love you_ out loud.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, still taking it in. “This is gorgeous.” He chews on his lip, hesitating. “This is…” He touches the tulip, his reluctance clear.

“True love,” Peter provides.

“Shit,” Stiles says softly, looking up at him. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. If you did it on purpose.”

“It is thoroughly researched, darling, I assure you,” Peter says. “Completely deliberate.”

Stiles looks back down at his arm. “Shit.”

He looks like he’s going to cry. Peter has literally never known what to do when he cries, whether it’s happy or sad. He’s the worst. How can he possibly think he deserves this?

“Do you know what the other ones mean?” Peter asks, trying to distract them both.

“Obviously,” Stiles says, snapping out of it to give Peter an incredulous look. He touches the roses in turn. “Romantic affection. Happiness. Desire.” He lifts his eyes to Peter, giving him a little smirk. He touches the iris and then frowns slightly. “This is wisdom,” he says almost apologetically. “Did you mean passion? That’s yellow. The purple is the classic colour though.”

“I meant wisdom,” Peter says. “Because you’re a smartass.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “There’s a difference between knowing stuff and wisdom. I just retain things.”

“You’re not allowed to argue with my declaration of love,” Peter says. “Keep going.”

Stiles gives him a smile filled with affection before looking back down at his arm. Queen Anne’s lace. “This means sanctuary.”

Peter nods. “It does.”

Stiles gives him a soft look and in the morning light, sleep rumpled amongst the blankets, it feels like the truest definition in the world. Stiles touches the amaryllis, squirming, and Peter thinks he’s going to need to reassure him again but there’s a look of amusement in Stiles’ eye when he looks up at him.

“This comes from a Greek myth,” he says.

“Oh god,” Peter groans. “Those never end well.”

“I guess you were using it for splendid beauty?” Stiles asks.

“I was,” Peter says, eyeing him warily. “What does it mean?”

“That,” Stiles insists. “It means that. Most people don’t even know the myth. Must be all the wisdom I have.”

“Stiles,” Peter says. “Did I just draw a Greek tragedy on your arm?”

Stiles’ mouth twitches as he fights back a smile. “I mean, the flower blooms from her blood after she repeatedly stabs herself through the heart with an arrow,” he admits.

Peter stares at him, letting that sink in. “We’re washing that one off.”

“No,” Stiles cries out, lunging forward to grab him as he tries to get off the bed. “Come on, don’t you think that’s fitting for a tattoo artist? It’s basically what you do all day. Make things bloom by repeatedly stabbing them.”

Peter wants to protest but he has a point.

Stiles looks down at his arm, giving a happy sigh. “I love it,” he says. He looks up, moving closer to Peter so that he’s practically sat in his lap, leaning against him as he draws him in for a kiss, slow and sweet and honest. “I love you,” he says as he pulls back.

“I love you too,” Peter responds, the words warming him.

Stiles grins, his cheeks pink. “I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

“You say that to everyone,” Peter says. “Constantly.”

Stiles shakes his head, expression serious and earnest. “Not like that. Never like that.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat and he has no idea how to respond so he just kisses Stiles again, pulling him closer. When they part, he reaches for Stiles’ arm, looking down at the design. Stiles looks too, resting his head on Peter’s shoulder.

“I could do this for real if you wanted,” Peter offers.

Stiles looks up, cradling the side of Peter’s face as he looks into his eyes. “I would literally rather die.”

Peter smiles. Every time he thinks he can’t possibly love him more, Stiles proves him wrong. “Fair enough.”

“It’s my favourite thing in the world though,” Stiles tells him. “I’m taking lots of photos. I’m using it as my phone background.”

Peter looks at him sharply. “I’m your phone background.”

“Deal with it,” Stiles tells him.

Peter grabs him around the waist, wrestling him down onto the bed, covering his body with his own. Stiles squeals in delight, spreading his legs so Peter can fit between them, and as their mouths meet again, Peter can tell they’re not going to be leaving their little sanctuary any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> [morni6](https://morni6.tumblr.com/) on tumblr made some [beautiful artwork](https://morni6.tumblr.com/post/180592385996/something-you-do-by-gemjam-ao3-peter-expresses) to accompany this fic, thank you so much! <3


End file.
